To Dream
by itachi-is-here
Summary: On the 50th anniversary of Prussia's abolition, Canada has a disturbing dream about Prussia, who died before he could meet him. And that dream resurrected a red-eyed demon who wanted revenge on everyone who wronged him while he was alive.
1. Introduction

**A/N: WELCOME! It's Aksel, and this is my first multi-chapter. It's a PruCan. :D I don't know how frequently I'll update, but I'm in the process of writing Chapter 4. Or 5, I cant really remember. I hope to update frequently. Enjoy!**

**Diclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I did, PruCan smut would be included in the bonus scenes. **

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><p>For Matthew Williams, the normally invisible personification of Canada, sleep was a cherished practice. It was a means of escape, to him. He could just relax and forget about his job, his idiotic family and unfortunate invisibility. But best of all, he could dream. He could lose himself and then wake up a few hours later, the same as before he had fallen asleep. Had he been a man of weaker will, he knew he would be using all kinds of drugs by now, and fucking himself up beyond repair in the process. But, he wasn't weak and he knew that drugs could never give him the dreams he had when he just slept. They would never be the same with drugs, and he couldn't afford to ruin them. So night after night, he fell into peaceful slumber and entered the realm of dreams.<p>

It was the night of February 25th, in 1997, when Matthew realised that not all dreams were good. Sure, he had nightmares in the past, but only as a child. Every young one's mind harbours insecurities and fears which breed long nights of crawling into their parent's beds, trying to banish the terrifying nighttime visions. But, Matthew had been using dreams as an escape from his reality ever since the '40's. Not once in those 50-something years did he ever have a dream that terrified him so much. The content of the dream wasn't the only terrifying thing about it, however. The lingering feeling that it wasn't just a product of his own mind, like every other dream, scared him most of all. There was something else there, trying to speak to him. And he was going to find out what it was, no matter how horrifying.

It was a well known fact in the community of personified nations, that Arthur Kirkland was a little off. Everyone was in some way. It was impossible not to be, they were immortal personifications of countries for Jesus' sake! But, he was assumed to be just a little more off than the rest. He believed in faeries, he practiced magic, and he liked to talk to beings that no other nations could see. But, when his ex-colony (What's his name again? Mark? Michael? Matt-Matthew! That's it) came to visit him, shaking violently and muttering about dreams from another realm before passing out on his doorstep, Arthur knew he wasn't the only off one around here. Except Norway.

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><p><strong><em>Arthur's POV<em>**

Knock, knock.

_Go away._

Knock, knock, knock.

_Go the bloody hell away. I'm sleeping._

Knockknockknockknockknockknoc-

"BLOODY HELL, WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU FUCKING WANT? GO AWAY! I'M SLEEPING, YOU WANKER!"

_..._

Knock, knock.

"FINE!"

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><p>A very irritated, very tired Arthur Kirkland reluctantly hurled himself out of bed at 2:29am to answer his front door. Some obnoxious and persistent twat was knocking and wouldn't go away, so the chances that he would get to punch who he thought was a certain American behind his door was a promising enough reason to not ignore it any further. Oh, and he probably wouldn't be able to just go back to sleep with all that knocking, because if the bugger was who he thought it was, it would never stop. Stupid Americans.<p>

Arthur dragged his tired body towards his (very loud) front door. He grabbed the handle and readied his empty fist for a packing right hook...

"Alfred! How many times have I told you that I do NOT want to be disturbed by your sorry-" ...Until he saw that it wasn't America who came knocking at all. It was his much more peaceful and much less obnoxious brother, Canada. And Canada looked like shit.

His wavy, blond hair was sticking up in all different directions and looked wet with sweat. His face wasn't flushed like Arthur would have expected, but completely devoid of all colour. His skin looked clammy and paler than usual, and his violet eyes were darkened with fear and shifting around in every direction. He was muttering under his breath about dreams "from the beyond" and his lip was bleeding like he had bitten it too hard. His little body was shaking violently under a pair of red and white maple leaf boxers and a matching hoodie, and he wasn't even wearing his glasses. Or shoes. Or proper trousers. Or-

"Jesus, Matthew! What happened? Are you okay? Do you need me to call Al-" and then Matt fainted. Arthur stared at Canada's limp form and then sighed and bent down so he could hoist him up by his armpits and drag him inside the house. He dumped Matt on the couch and sat in his recliner. Arthur could feel a headache brewing in the back of his skull as he drifted back to sleep in his chair, unaware of the disaster waiting for him upon awakening again.

Arthur woke up with a stiff back and an even bigger killer headache in the recliner, to the delicious smell of pancakes and maple syrup. He stood up and stretched his store muscles before scratching his stomach and wandering towards the source of the promising smell of (an actually edible) breakfast.

When he entered his kitchen, he remembered just who came to visit him last night (for once) and vowed to interrogate him once they finished eating.

"Morning, Matthew." Arthur greeted, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Matthew jumped and turned around, looking sheepish.

"M-Morning, Arthur. I made pancakes for breakfast! I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen." He said, scratching the back of his head in nervousness.

"Not at all, lad." Arthur smiled. "It's nice, having homemade breakfast!" He didn't want to scare the poor kid away. He did faint on his doorstep last night, after all. It wasn't like he thought he'd certainly be having more than one plate of those good-looking pancakes, and didn't want the little cook running away or anything.

Matthew set down a plate in front of Arthur and motioned for him to start eating, startling him from his thoughts. He said a quick thanks and dug into the pancakes. The second they hit his tongue, he groaned.

"Shit, Matthew." Arthur said, startled by his own use of sudden (and quite ungentlemanly) profanity. "Where did you learn to make such heavenly pancakes?" he said, immediately picking his fork back up and tucking into the pancakes. Matthew laughed and sat down across from Arthur at the tiny kitchen table.

"I'm Francis' son too, remember?" he said, a small smirk rising on his face at seeing Arthur frown.

"Yeah, don't remind me." Arthur figured more delicious pancakes would make him forget the frog. And their shared child. And what they had to go through to make said shared child.

Arthur soon finished the plate in front of him and blushed, looking pleadingly at Matthew. Matt just smiled and took his plate from him, starting the stove up again.

Yeah, he totally didn't want Matthew to stay just because he made good pancakes.

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><p>Many of said pancakes and praises directed towards Matthew's cooking skills later, Arthur sat Matthew down at his couch and plopped back down in his own chair.<p>

"So," he began. "Do you remember what happened last night?" Arthur saw Matthew's face darken as he nodded.

"Yeah. I do remember." he said. "I'm sorry for passing out on you, but I was just so tired and...utterly terrified." Matthew unconsciously hugged his arms around his torso and curled into the couch.

"What were you so scared of?" Arthur asked, his eyes softening and casting his ex-colony a sympathetic look. "And what were you mumbling about other-worldly dreams?"

Matthew hesitated, cringing when Arthur said "other-worldly", and then spoke again.

"Well... How about I start at the beginning?"


	2. The Beginning

**A/N: Chapter 2! :D Enjoy the awkward Matthew/Arthur interactions. **

**Disclaimer: Me no own. D:**

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><p>"Well... How about I start at the beginning?" Matthew said, righting himself on Arthur's couch and looking directly into the island nation's eyes.<p>

Arthur stared at Matthew, more than a little confused at his words and sudden change in behaviour. However, he told himself that he would listen to Matthew, despite the complicated things listening would get him into (not that Arthur actually knew that).

"Sure," Arthur said, "I mean, that's what you came here to do, isn't it?" he smirked a little, seeing a faint blush appear on Matthew's cheeks.

"Oh! Hahaha...Y-Yeah..." said Matt, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath.

"Well..." he began, silently composing himself.

"It all started last night."

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><p>February 25th, 1997. 9:34pm.<p>

Sighing, Matthew opened the door to his perfect little house in the Canadian countryside. Another G8 meeting ending without a resolution for anything. Another day going unnoticed by any of them. Another day being out shined by his elder twin. Another day he'd go home and jump right into bed so he could fall asleep and forget.

He closed the door behind him and leaned up against it, rubbing the aching bridge of his nose under his glasses. He pushed himself off of the wood and removed his glasses completely, placing them in the breast pocket of his suit coat. He loosened his tie and trudged upstairs to his bedroom so he could finally get the sleep he yearned for, ever since that stupid meeting started. Nothing ever got done, anyways. Why hold them when all they did was make people angrier at each other and stressed out? Germany had seemed especially tense and angry today. Not that he wasn't always stressed, but his shoulders seemed more hunched and he yelled even more (not that anyone noticed) than Matthew normally saw out of the icy German.

If there was one plus side to being invisible, it was being more perceptive than anybody could have guessed. He knew everything about everyone, and since no one paid attention to him, he even had extra time to ponder his daily findings. That made meetings much, much more interesting. He had always thought he'd make an awesome spy.

Matthew walked into the bathroom attached to his master bedroom and removed his coat and tie, throwing them onto his bed from his place at the doorframe. He then turned around and stared into the bathroom mirror. Vibrant, violet eyes framed by wavy, light blond bangs and thick lashes stared back at him as he sighed. Nothing ever changed. He looked away to unbutton his dress shirt and throw it in the hamper next to the sink and take his belt off. He started the shower and then undid the clasp on his slacks so he could let them slide to the floor. He picked them up and folded them, and then willed himself another look into the mirror. What he saw staring back at him, was certainly not himself.

The first shock was the messy silver hair framing the face in the mirror. The second was how pale the skin of the figure was. It looked like one of those ghosts from Alfred's horror movies. And the third shock was what caught Matthew off-guard in the first place. The eyes staring at him were not violet at all, but a sorrowful red colour. The eyes staring at him were deep and murky, and held a sadness he didn't think belonged in those bloody pools. The figure in the mirror disappeared within a second, and Matthew was left to stare into his own confused, and very frightened eyes.

Matthew remembered he had a shower running, and hastily removed his boxers and socks before jumping into the warm water. He stood there for a few moments, absorbing the feeling of the water cascading down his sore muscles. The water relaxed his body, but couldn't relax his mind. All he could think about was the pale man with eyes of blood, and why Matthew felt like he had seen him before.

Matthew stopped talking to glance up at Arthur, who looked stunned.

"Arthur?" Matthew asked. "Are you alright? There's more, but you don't have to listen to it! I can just-"

"No." Arthur interrupted him. "No. Keep going." he pushed, looking Matthew straight in the eyes.

Matthew gulped down his sudden nervousness and continued.

"Okay."

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><p>February 25th, 1997. 10:11pm.<p>

Matthew stepped out of his shower and grabbed the towel hanging next to the tub. He shook the water out of his hair and wrapped the towel around his waist. A shower ended up being just what he needed, as he was nice and relaxed and very, very sleepy when he got out. He waddled over to his dresser and pulled out his favourite pair of maple leaf boxers, a matching maple leaf hoodie, and a white undershirt. He donned the sleepwear and dragged himself towards his bed, rolling under his covers and closing his eyes. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was fast asleep.

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><p>11: 37pm.<p>

Matthew was deeply asleep by now. His face certainly showed it; smoothed out features, violet eyes closed and mouth slightly agape. To the eyes of any normal person, he was peacefully dreaming, or maybe not even dreaming at all.

In reality, his world was about to be thoroughly turned upside-down, and through some hairpin turns after that.

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><p><strong>AN: Short chapter is short. D: Don't forget a review/fav/follow if you like it!**


	3. The Dreaming Starts

**A/N: Another short chapter, I know. XP Sorry. It's all building up to Chapter 4, though! **

**Disclamier: Hima-papa said he'd give me the rights, I swear! But, then again... I don't exactly understand Japanese. ONE DAY, PAPA. ONE DAY. **

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><p><em><strong>Matthew's POV- In his dream<strong>_

Darkness. That's the first thing I was aware of. Darkness, a cold hardness on my back, and what sounded like water dripping from the ceiling. Dripping water and hard ground was certainly not my comfy bed with my Canadian flag comforter, nor anything like the dreams I normally have. So, where the hell was I?

I realised that the darkness was caused by my eyes still being closed, so I opened them and sat up. What I saw when my eyes focused, was certainly weirder than the dark.

A few feet away from my spot on the floor, was a lone red door with a shiny gold handle. There were thick metal pipes running along the walls, and every single one led to the sides of that door, which was illuminated by a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling. Seeing as how that was the only place I saw that could be a possible escape (or a possible answer for this situation), I got up, brushed myself off, and walked towards the door. I hesitated, before grabbing the shiny handle and pulling the door open.

I found myself inside a theatre packed with mysterious people, who were all dressed in different (extremely detailed and expensive-looking) masquerade costumes. I could recognise no face, and their meaningless and incessant chatter buzzed around my head like bees. I had always hated large crowds.

I thought my invisibility would be pretty useful in this situation, so I slipped around the seats in the back of the theatre towards a very nice, very dark looking corner. Yeah, big mistake.

Apparently, tonight's show was all about me, because as soon as I started heading towards my corner, a spotlight shined down directly on me. I froze up, and darted my eyes out towards the costumed audience. A roar of applause erupted from them, complete with giggles from the women and whistles from the men. I shook myself out of my frozen state and faced the stage, where a large man dressed in nothing but a black, silky tux, a white scarf, and a simple black eye mask stood, smiling at me. He held a microphone to his mouth and cleared his throat, grabbing the audience's attention and immediately silencing them. The second he spoke, I knew exactly who it was, and had a feeling he wasn't here to just smile and creep the shit out of everyone. Well, maybe some of the latter.

"Ladies and gentleman!" he exclaimed into his microphone.

"Tonight, we have a very special show planned for you, and a very special guest here to see it." he smiled his creepy smile and gestured towards me, causing a few heads to turn in my direction.

"Mr. Matthew Williams," he said. "Would you come take your seat up here in the front row? This is all for you, after all." his grin turned feral and his tone got darker as he spoke his next words:

"How about you come sit down and enjoy it, дa?"

As soon as the words left Russia's mouth, I could feel all the blood drain from my face and my eyes grow wide. He gestured towards my seat, smiling at me again, but it was tighter around the edges. I knew I had better take the seat, so I walked carefully down the aisle towards the front row, and took the only empty one. It was right in the centre, the best seat in the house. By that time, though, I was hardly sure I wanted it.

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><p><em><strong>Matthew &amp; Arthur's Conversation.<strong>_

There was a tense silence as Matthew took a break from speaking to look at Arthur's face. Arthur had a fearful look in his eyes that he tried to hide with a poker face. His face was pale and a bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he stared at the floor by Matthew's feet. Matthew took a sip from the glass of water Arthur put on the coffee table in front of him to distract himself from the odd feeling growing in his stomach.

"Now," Matthew started, "Are you sure you want to listen to the rest? It gets...graphic." he felt a shudder thrill down his spine just thinking about what he would have to tell Arthur.

After a long few minutes, Arthur spoke.

"I need you to continue, Matthew. Tell me everything. Don't leave anything out." he told him. Arthur still hadn't looked at Matthew's face, even as he cleared his throat again and started to speak. Arthur would not meet Matthew's eyes. It would give too much away, and neither man could afford that, even if they didn't know the true extent of the situation at hand.

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><p><strong>AN: Super short. Jesus titties, I didn't even realise how short it was until now... Anyways, hope you enjoy! I'm writing chapter 4 as we (not) speak!**


	4. The Torture

**A/N: Here's Chapter 4! Danke for all of the reviews and alerts and favs. :) They make my day! I kinda hate the ending, but I couldn't figure out another way to close it, so it's stuck like that. I might change it someday.**

**_THIS IS IMPORTANT:_**

**There is mention of swastikas and gore and blood and all that good stuff. If you don't like it, then I suggest your turn away now. I didn't put the swastika in here to be offensive, I did it to show how cruel Ivan is being. Also, Natalya is Belarus. Just saying.**

**Enjoy!**

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><p><em><strong>Matthew's Dream<strong>_

All the stares from the audience as I sat down, coupled with the fact that the stage had gone dark as soon as my butt hit the chair, made me want to bolt back right back out through the red door and forget this all happened. Or, you know, maybe wake up. I realised that I had been sitting in-between two blond men, who turned to me at the same time and whispered in my ears:

"You seem nervous. You shouldn't be. The shows they put on here are always entertaining."

The man on my left had a deep, smooth voice, laced with a southern American accent. The man on the right purred out his words with a thick, native French accent. I gulped, suddenly feeling a million times more nervous. I knew I wasn't going to enjoy any "show" put on in this theatre.

The men snapped their heads forward as the stage lit up again, and the curtains were drawn back. What I saw on that stage, just proved me right.

Placed in the middle of the stage was a small, thick-barred cage that looked more appropriate for a dog, than the man inside of it.

He was completely naked, save for the blindfold placed over his eyes, a thick leather collar around his neck, and handcuffs that were chaining his wrists together behind his back. He was kneeling in the cramped cage, but didn't look uncomfortable in the least. In fact, his face was completely devoid of all emotion. He didn't squirm, didn't make a single sound. He just kneeled there and waited. But, none of this was what made my heart race, and my stomach churn in terror. It was the familiar mop of silver hair that rested on his head, and the state of the body it belonged to.

His stark-white skin was not only covered in grotesque scars, but new wounds that stained him a bright red. A red I knew matched the eyes under his blindfold. He was bruised, mostly around his face, neck, and chest, and there were what looked like whip lashes all over his legs, his sides, his chest, and probably his back. As soon as I could take my eyes off of the man in the cage, I looked towards Ivan, who was slowly making his way towards it. He was now dressed in his normal clothing, and armed with his pipe and a braided leather whip. When he spoke, it was with a tone I knew all too well. The voice I had only heard once, directed towards Alfred during the Cold War.

"My friends!" he began. "Look at the little pet I've captured! A songbird, locked away in his cage. He sits and waits here on his knees for me, for us! Our goal tonight, is to make him sing for our Matvey. So, let us not keep him waiting." he grinned and snapped his fingers. "Sisters!"

As soon as he put his hand down, two women stepped out onto the stage dressed in matching black corsets, fishnets stockings, black leather stilettos, and ornate ivory eye masks. The shorter woman had long, platinum blonde hair with a black silk bow tied in it. She carried a leather riding crop, and a customised 6-inch dagger. The taller (who was quite well-endowed) had chin-length hair, and the colour was similar to Ivan's. She carried a flogger with glass shards tied on the ends, and what looked like a pitchfork in her hands. I knew then, that this man was going to die.

The audience began to clap.

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><p>My face paled more, if that was even possible, as soon as I heard the applause from the audience. I knew I needed to move, to leave and never come back or to try to save this man, I didn't know, but as soon as I started to move, an arm from each side of me shot out and blocked my path. They turned and smiled identical, frozen smiles at me. They spoke, once again, in perfect sync.<p>

"Where are you going, Matt? You must stay and watch your show! We promise, it will be entertaining." they chirped, turning their masked blue eyes to my violet ones.

I gulped, and slowly eased back into my seat, intimidated by the dark shadows I saw flickering in their familiar blues. I turned my eyes back towards the stage, where the two women were unlocking the cage and pulling the silver-haired man out. The removed his blindfold and set him at Ivan's feet. He stood behind the cage with a bloodthirsty grin on his face, and his pipe at the ready in his hands.

"Oh, birdie~" he whispered, making the man let out a small growl. "Will you cooperate tonight? For the audience?" Ivan asked, putting his pipe under the man's chin and using it to lift his face upwards.

After a few seconds of silence, the man growled out,

"Hell no! Back off, you fuckin' Russki. I'd never submit to some sick bastard like _you_." he spat. His voice was rough and low, but his tone spoke volumes to me. He had already given up.

Ivan sighed unhappily and shook his head.

"You'll regret this, Birdie." was all Ivan said, before straightening up and looking out towards the audience again with a frigid grin. He clapped his hands together once, and suddenly the air became thick with anticipation, while I stared in horror. I started whispering to myself, a habit I slipped into whenever I was scared or nervous. Since nobody heard me anyways, I never thought it was a big deal.

"Oh, god. No. Nonono, please. Please, Ivan! Stop! Why are you doing this?"

And then the blond on my right turned to me and whispered, "Calm down, Matthew! It's just a little light entertainment." he grinned before speaking again. "Ivan's shows are always a riot. You'll enjoy it, I promise!" his familiar accent was cold yet absolutely elated. If he was who I thought he was, if this was my Papa, then I knew the man on my right was my twin. I couldn't imagine who else could be in the audience if they were there.

As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I turned to closely observe the members of the audience for the first time. I craned my neck to see behind myself, and instantly recoiled and faced the stage again. Each audience member had stared at him with familiar, glowing eyes and icy smiles. I decided right then that whatever happened on stage, could be no worse then seeing my fellow nation's eyes alive with anticipation and bloodlust and their smiles hiding dark intentions. Oh, how I was wrong.

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><p>By the time I had looked back at the stage, the white-haired man had been strapped to a wooden cross, his back facing the audience. Ivan was standing in front of him, and Katyusha and Natalya were on either side of the cross. I could see all of the lashes and scars that continued from the front of his body, and a multitude of burns accompanied them. What I thought stood out, however, was the huge swastika tattooed there in black ink. It took up the entire expanse of his back, and it looked like someone had pressed the needle too deep into his skin at certain places. Most of the scars covered the tattoo, which meant that he got it tattooed before all of his torture. I remembered thinking that the swastika must have been his first punishment, and how you couldn't even see the ink by the time the three of them were through with him.<p>

The blindfold had been placed back over the man's eyes and the leather straps around his body tightened once more, before Ivan had decided to grace the audience with his proclamations again.

"Look at how lovely our bird is!" he exclaimed jovially. "So fragile and sad...Maybe if we got him to sing," Ivan lashed the man's back with his braided whip, "He'd be happy again!"

The white-haired man just growled. He didn't squirm, or show any signs of pain, if he even felt any. Natalya punched him in the back of the head, making him smack his face against the wood in front of him. He didn't utter a single sound.

Ivan seemed a bit put out by the man's behaviour. He pouted like a child and raised his arm, crack the whip down on the same spot he hit before. Before I could even flinch at the sound, Ivan was whipping him with such power and speed, that I swear I heard it crack about thirty times in a span of two minutes. The audience whooped and laughed, and even after sixty lashes passed, the man still hadn't made a sound.

I could see that Ivan was slowly getting bored with the whip, and stopped after I counted one hundred and thirty-two lashes. I hadn't blinked once. He signed dejectedly and Natalya slinked up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"It's okay, brother." she said in his ear. "He'll break soon enough." the audience laughed at this and Ivan perked up again. Smiling at his sisters, he handed the whip to Katyusha and brandished his pipe again. He slowly dragged the curved end from the nape of the man's neck to the end of his back in a gentle manner. Then, Ivan swung and hit him right in the middle of his back. I heard a dull, sickening "thump" sound and I turned away and closed my eyes. I knew Ivan would beat him to death. However, Alfred grabbed my by my chin and forced me to look him in the eyes. I glared fiercely at him and he just chuckled as he wrenched my face back towards the stage. The empty darkness in my twin's eyes was too much to bear. I'd have rather watched a man die than seen him like that. It made me hate myself a little bit more.

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><p>Ivan had been going for about ten minutes straight before he dropped his bloodstained pipe, and grimaced at the still unresponsive man. I couldn't even see the tattoo on his back anymore; it was bleeding profusely and had turned a sickening purple colour. He growled and clapped, and Natalya and Katyusha unclasped the man's restraints and flipped his over, pressing his injured back into the cross. They strapped him in again and Ivan whispered into Natalya's ear, who ran offstage and then came back with an ornate, velvet-upholstered chair. Ivan plopped down into it and grinned at Katyusha, who smiled back and picked up her flogger. She lashed it against the man's neck and the glass left deep cuts in his throat. He involuntarily choked up blood and it splashed out of his mouth and onto his chest. Katyusha struck him on his chest and all over his pale thighs, making the blood drip down his body and into a large puddle on the floor. I bent forward and threw up at my feet when I realised that he was still alive.<p>

It had been fifteen minutes since I had thrown up, and Katyusha was still tearing his body apart with the glass-flogger. I resorted to looking upon the scene with horror and utter disgust; I couldn't even scream for him. Katyusha looked even more upset than Ivan. She stomped her foot like a child and crossed her arms, much to the amusement of the other audience members. She suddenly adopted a wicked grin and handed the flogger to Natalya. Before I could even try to register what was going on, Katyusha's pitchfork was pinning the man to the cross by his stomach. He choked up more blood and unintentionally thrashed against it, making the audience all but scream with laughter. But still, he was silent. Katyusha pulled the pitchfork out if his stomach and plunged it into his chest, making him throw his head forward to vomit up more of his blood. And then, the pitchfork found its way into his neck.

I began to cry when I saw the wound heal itself just enough, so that it was still there, but death wouldn't take him.

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><p><strong><em>Matthew &amp; Arthur's Conversation<em>**

Matthew covered his mouth with his hand to cover the choked sobbing noises he was making. The tears flowed profusely from his violet eyes and refused to stop, even when Arthur had moved from his chair to sit next to him.

"Matthew, love." he said, rubbing soothing circle into Matthew's back with his hand. "You have to go on with this story." Matthew shook his head and buried it deeper into Arthur's shirt.

"I-I c-can't! I j-just c-can't!" Matthew protested. He just couldn't describe that poor man's death.

Arthur then came up with a brilliant idea that he knew would get Matthew to finish his retelling.

"Matthew, I'm going to call your brother and Francis. They'll come over, and then you can tell all of us. Surely you're more comfortable with then around, right?" he said, smiling softly at his former colony.

Matthew nodded and Arthur shot up to grab the phone.

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><p>"Alfred? Hello. It's Arthur. Would you mind coming over today?"<p>

"Uh, hey, Artie. What do you need?

"Oh, well, Matthew came over and he's having a bit of a hard time. He could really use you here. Are you feeling alright?"

A wince and a quiver in his voice. "Yeah, I'm great, Arthur. I'll be over in a sec."

"Okay... Bye."

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><p>"Francis? You there, frog?"<p>

"Angleterre? What do you need? You never call me."

"Well, Matthew came over and he's just having a hard time. He could use some comfort, I guess. Listen, are you coming over or not?"

"I...I suppose I could, yes. I'll be there."

The line went dead.

"Right. Bye."

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><p>Arthur hung up the phone and rubbed the aching bridge of his nose. Not one random outburst from Alfred? No proclamations of heroic deeds? He didn't forget who Matthew was? Not one single perverted statement from Francis? No creepy laughs or haughty teasing?<p>

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

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><p><strong>AN: Shitty ending, blec. Hope you enjoyed anyways!**

**Oh, disclaimer! Me no own Hetalia. D:**


	5. The Family

**A/N: I listened to a lot of Nine Inch Nails while writing this chapter and the next one, so be prepared for disturbing mental images. On another note; don't you think their song "Down In It" kinda works for Gilbert? I mean, "I used to be so big and strong. I used to know my right from wrong. I used to never be afraid. I used to be somebody. I used to have something inside. Now it's just this hole that's open wide. I used to want it all. I used to be somebody [...] And what I used to think was me is just a fading memory. I looked him right in the eye and said 'goodbye.'"**

**Enjoy the awkward, bittersweet fluff, too. ^.^ Francis and Alfred waltz into the plot! And, as always, there's way too much OOC-ness.**

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><p>Arthur made his way from the kitchen where his phone was, back to the living room where Matthew had curled deeper into the couch to sob. He felt a wave of guilt wash through him for manipulating the poor boy, but he needed to know what happened in the dream. He sat down next to Matthew and took him into his arms, rubbing his back and whispering soothing nothings in his ear.<p>

'It's all for the greater good of us nations.' Arthur told himself. And for once, he was right.

* * *

><p>The first one to arrive at Arthur's house for Matthew was Francis, considering his close proximity to England. He knocked on the door quietly and waited on baited breath for it to open. Arthur had almost missed the knocking on his door - it was that quiet. That was his first hint that something was wrong. Arthur threw open the door and took in the appearance of the flamboyant nation on the other side.<p>

Francis' normally gorgeous blond hair was dull and messy, the mischievous sparkles in his blue eyes were muted, his skin lacked its normal flush, and the state of his clothing was absolutely atrocious. Arthur did a double-take when he saw that Francis only had on a simple dress shirt, a pair of worn-looking jeans, and trainers. _Holy Mint Bunny, Francis was wearing trainers._ He knew that the look on his face was appalled.

Francis would have laughed at Arthur's face, if it weren't for the fact that he felt like absolute and utter shit. There were _extremely unattractive _bags under his eyes, seeing as how he had woken up screaming at 2am. He sat there in bed and cried for a few minutes, before he realised he wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon, so he got up, ate, and then received a call from Arthur. When Francis heard Matthew's name, he almost told Arthur no, but he couldn't let his little _Mathieu_ cry any longer, so he hauled his wrecked ass to England. After all, it was just a dream, right?

"Francis," Arthur said briskly, clearing his throat to try and relieve the awkward tension. "Are you coming inside, then?" he asked, stepping to the side.

Francis gave a weak smile and a chuckle and stepped inside Arthur's home, immediately stopping at the sight of his son with tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes. He immediately forgot all about his terrible morning and enveloped his boy into a tight hug.

"Don't cry, _mon petit Mathieu_." he whispered. "Your Papa is here."

Matthew hugged Francis back and buried his face into his father figure's chest. "I'm all right, Papa." Matthew said against his shirt. "I just need some support, I guess."

Francis nodded, and placed a kiss on Matthew's head. Arthur looked away from the scene, feeling intrusive. The doorbell rang again.

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><p>Arthur opened the door and was met with the sight of an even more disheveled Alfred. Texas was askew on his face, and the dark circles under his eyes made his face look paler than Arthur had ever seen it.<p>

"Alfred? Are you all right?" Arthur asked gently.

"Haha, yeah." Alfred said sheepishly, trying to smile. "I'm just fine, Artie." he brushed past Arthur and was immediately met with Francis and Matthew's embrace. Francis wasn't even groping the poor boy, and certainly didn't look as colourful as usual. Alfred grabbed Arthur by the hand and ran over to throw his arms around the pair on the couch, consequently dragging Arthur into the hug. Every single one of them cried silently.

Alfred cried for his "parents" and his brother and the fears his dream brought.

Matthew cried for the man in his dream, and his own helplessness.

Francis cried for his sons, and for his former Bad Touch member and best friend.

Arthur cried for his family and his own guilt for causing the tears and pain.

* * *

><p>They all pulled back and stared at one another, arms still draped comfortingly around their shoulders. Matthew sobbed out a quiet "thank you".<p>

Eyes closed, and arms tightened around each other once again. They may have had their disagreements and moments, but they were still a family, and they damn well loved each other. They all knew that they'd need each other even more soon, but none wanted to acknowledge that their world was about to be torn apart.

Besides, everyone had known Gilbert would come back. It had only been a matter of time. And now, time was up.

Matthew was the one to break the silence.

"G-Guys," he started. "I need to tell Arthur about the rest of my dream. Will you... St-Stay with me?" he whispered, unsure.

"Of course, Mattie!" Alfred said, flashing a watery grin. Francis nodded and smiled at his sons and once-lover.

"Th-Thank you, again." Matthew said. He took a deep breath to calm himself, gathered his thoughts, and prepared to speak.

"So, back to Katyusha..."

* * *

><p><em><strong>Matthew's Dream<strong>_

As soon as I saw the wound in his neck healing, I had realised that all of his wounds were healing, albeit at a snail's pace. It was going to take a lot for him to die, and he was going to break in front of my unwilling, and everyone else's eager, eyes. It seemed that both the victim, and the three siblings knew this too, for Katyusha's out-of-character smirk grew wider as she swung her arms backwards and brought the tonged end of her pitchfork down on the man's midsection. Deep cuts welled at the skin there, as well as the hollow _thump_ and _crack_ of a rib breaking. He visibly flinched, which was his first real reaction, and Katyusha laughed and struck him again.

But, when she failed to draw another reaction out of the man with her treatment, she dropped her weapon, nodded to Natalya, and plopped down on Ivan's lap. The audience found this hilarious, as a cruel smile appeared on the platinum-blonde's pretty face. She picked up her riding crop, and immediately smacked him in the mouth with it. He spat a mouthful of blood onto her cheek, and I vaguely wondered why he had done that; he was practically asking her for a painful death. Then I remembered the way he'd spoken to Ivan, in a tone that spoke of false determination and apathy towards his situation. Death didn't matter to a man with nothing to live for, did it?

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><p><em><strong>Arthur's House<strong>_

Fear. Fear and disgust were the only expressions that could possibly shine through on the faces of the three men listening to Matthew speak. What made it worse, was that all of them knew exactly who it was being murdered. Matthew had felt horrified and sick beyond belief watching the once-great Prussia being treated like a misbehaving animal, but the three men who actually knew him felt something deeper.

Francis had a fire in his watery eyes that had only been uncovered when his empire had fallen back in the 19th century, Arthur had a chilling look of anger and disgust reflecting on his face, since he had always secretly respected Prussia, and Alfred looked downright appalled. Prussia had helped him gain his independence, and being told of his treatment by the hands of his once-enemy was nothing short of horrific to America.

But, they had to know how he died. Even if it was only a dream to their Matthew, the three of them knew it was something more. They didn't want to hear of Prussia's demise, but they couldn't just stop. Like a horror movie that you just couldn't turn off or a story that you couldn't stop reading, no matter what atrocities were written there, they needed to know how he would die. They couldn't convince themselves that he wouldn't die, anymore. It was just a matter of how.

Besides, how else were they going to tell Germany that his brother was coming back if they couldn't tell him how he died, first?

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><p><strong>AN: Ahaha, I love Prussia, really I do. I just can't be nice to him, though. He begs my subconscious to torture the ever-loving shit out of him and be a dickwad. Sorry for making you a pussy in all of my stories, Gil. Sorry if this chapter is crap. Oh wait! It is. :P School starts tomorrow, so I'm not gonna update as often. :/ sorry!**


	6. Author's Note

Herro. I think... I'll finish this story. I apologise for leaving it so long, but I fell from the fandom. I think I'm back, so look forward to some updates? Thank you all who followed and faved this story. I love you all.


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